artykins

So I'm at work right now, listening the sounds of Lee Morgan streaming to me from the interweb and the dulcet tones of our fax machine cranking out the latest fax. I've put a fresh pot of coffee on for the staff (my faithfuls will know I don't touch the stuff because it makes me sick) and I'm beginning to get over some blues I've been feeling lately.

The blues were induced Wednesday. It was 'Administrative Professionals' day here stateside, which is the politically correct term for Secretary's Day (it's what the day used to be called back in the good old days). Well, my boss let the day come and go without so much as a word to me or to Linda. And I have to admit that I'm torn over how to feel.

On the one hand, I think I shouldn't care about it so much. I know I'm effecient with my work and I know that what I do is essential and important to every single person who works here. I have good rapport with staff and students alike. I coordinate, plan and execute every single form of testing that goes on here (which is a pretty ongoing job since there's some kind of state test given at least once a month from October through May).

Yet on the other, I find myself thinking that one day out of the year to say 'thank you for all your hard work' is more important than what I do. It at least shows Linda and me that we matter, that we're appreciated and that what we do is worthwhile. I don't think that's too much to ask.

So that fell on Wednesday and then yesterday, the boss left without so much as a word concerning my birthday tomorrow. Just left. For three days. Won't be back until Tuesday. And she didn't say one thing to me before she left. Not even goodbye. Not even, 'Hey, Arty, I'm heading out until Tuesday, have a great weekend.'

Now, you all know that cleaning is a coping mechanism of mine. I clean when I'm upset. Well, my kitchen has never been cleaner. I was in there from the time I got home from work yesterday until close to 9pm just cleaning things.

I started out with the microwave, which is set above my stove. Its placement means that it accumulates kitchen grease. You know the kind...the sticky feeling kind of grime that only lives in the kitchen where things splatter and the air gets saturated with oil over time?

So I got one of my trusty cereal bowls from the cupboard, my amazing box of Arm & Hammer baking soda and my potato sponge (which is a small yellow sponge with rough bristles on it to clean the dirt off the tubers). My method was simple enough. Add baking soda to bowl, add water to baking soda, make a paste from it and dip the sponge into it before having at it.

The first culprit was the microwave, inside it, outside it and underneath it. This was followed by my second victim: the stovetop. Now, I've always kept my stovetop clean, but I went crazy. The grills came off, the pilots scrubbed until they sparkled and the backsplash made to be so clean that I could have happily and willingly licked it, if I wanted to.

Somewhere after the pilots were made to sparkle, I had to take a break and cook some dinner. And even that was disappointing. I cooked up some halibut steaks. They were frozen and I had thawed them, but I must not have thawed them enough because after a cooked them in the pan with some butter and olive oil, I took them out of the pan and put the on a plate only to find that they hadn't cooked through properly. A steak broke in half (it being fish, this isn't hard to imagine) and it was still clear in the middle. So I put my brand spankingly new microwave to use and nuked the little fishies for a minute until they were done.

They turned out on the tough side.

I decided to make a pan sauce from all the yummies left on the bottom of the pan, so into the same pan I had cooked the fish in, went some stock, some lemon juice and some capers. After that got all happy and simmered away, butter went in.

It tasted like vomit.

I made a salad with spinach and oranges that I had lying around. So I peeled the oranges completely, spent the time getting the flesh out without the white membranes attached and made a dressing out of orange juice, olive oil, pepper and poppy seeds.

I should have added some honey. It wasn't sweet enough and just tasted like acid.

The only thing that turned out well was the rice (which I mixed with a little butter and some scallions) and the asparagus (which I just simply put in my steamer basket and let them do their thing). I pretty much subsisted off of those two items of food.

So dinner came and went. I actually cleaned the kitchen (which is normally something Matt will volunteer to do) and loaded up the dishwasher. You'd think I'd be done cleaning, but all my bad juju hadn't left me yet, so I turned my attention to the oven and broiler. Surprisingly, I didn't have the energy to tackle the inside of the oven, so the outside of the door got a massive scrubbing with the paste and tuber brush. I even got a toothpick and dug all the nasties out of the seams and crevices.

Next was the broiler, which I scrubbed inside and out, finding what looked a lot like an ancient, dried up raisin that had petrified in the heat. This didn't take much time since the broiler is small and fairly self-contained.

But wait...I wasn't done yet!

Next in the line of succesion was the light cover, which I actually don't think has seen soap or water since before the person who lived there before us was there. It's always bothered me, that light cover, with its dirt and grime, but not until last night did I actually grab a chair, take it down and clean it.

That bad boy needed a trip to the bathroom. I washed and scrubbed it in the bathtub with running water and soap, then with white vinegar and then with soap again. After that, it was just a quick dry with a couple of towels and it was good to go back up. I'm actually amazed at how much brighter it is in that kitchen with a clean light cover.

Of course, after so much action, I had to retire my tuber brush to the bin. It had lived a good life, full of usefulness and cleanliness, but there was so much kitchen grime stuck in the little fibers that I deemed it more sanitary to just get rid of the thing and buy a new one.

The last thing I did was hoover the kitchen. I hoovered the rugs I have in there (which were not surprisingly caked with baking soda stuffs that had fallen off) and then I hoovered the floor. My vacuum has a function on it that allows me to use just suction, minus the brush, to clean hardwood and other un-carpeted surfaces.

Then it was just a matter of filing off my broken nails, showering in cold water (I had used all the hot water to wet and continually rinse the rag I used to get the baking soda paste off the appliances) and sitting down to apply some nail strengthening polish before watching part of a movie with Matt and crawling, exhausted but accomplished, into bed.

So here I am today, still with lingering juju. But the good news is that some people have done a lot for me today to make me feel better. Firstly, Linda gave me a birthday present, which made me cry even before I opened it. Thanks to her, I have a pair of earrings that are really pretty and feminine. Next, Bren and his math class gave me a potted plant for my birthday with a card that they all signed. To make things better, that card is an Eric Carle card.

Hopefully the rest of my weekend will disperse this funky juju and I'll get back to normal. I don't know if I'll get a chance to blog tomorrow, it being my birthday and all, but I'll try and get something, even if it's a little something, posted.

- Arty